The Skin I'm In
by Sunfreak
Summary: Separated from the others by a youkai's spell, Miroku finds himself keeping strange company and missing a certain someone even as his friends find themselves in dire straits.
1. Miroku's Eyes

A/N: Lucky you guys! Another new fic for me to work on while my writer's block on "Slayers REGAL" festers and annoys. Just a little idea I had the other day. It should be sinfully fun. ^ ^  
  
  
  
"Miroku's Eyes"  
  
  
  
He was much taller than she was, his hair long and as white as an old man's, yet with a natural thickness and sheen that only the very young possessed. He met her eyes briefly, and she saw that they were the color of amethyst and slit-pupiled, mocking the one whose life he had stolen without even a ghost of shame in their depths.  
  
"Demon," she whispered.  
  
"That I am," he replied lightly, smiling at her in a sickening imitation of her lost friend, even as his shape became that lost friend's. "Would the clever lady be so kind . . . as to bear my child?"  
  
Sango's eyes flashed dangerously and she struck him on reflex. The nameless youkai laughed.  
  
"It is so easy to be him," he said in an amused tone. "And soon, my dear, you will forget that I am not even that lecherous monk. My spells can take away even your strong mind's memories."  
  
She wished that she could believe he was lying- believe that she was strong enough to know what had really happened and not dishonor her friend's memory. But already she felt his accursed magic stealing the truth away.  
  
The last conscious thought she had was that his eyes were nowhere near as beautiful as the real Miroku's.  
  
  
  
* tbc . . . * 


	2. Sango's Name

A/N: Sorry that the prologue was so short, but it WAS a prologue, and a bit spur of the moment. I did try to make it longer, but I finally decided that I liked it that way. No worries, though- from now on, we'll have decent-sized chapters.  
  
  
  
"Sango's Name"  
  
  
  
It had not started out as such a bad day, Miroku recalled ruefully. They had won another Shikon shard off a nasty kitsune after a brief but fierce battle, and therefore even Inu-Yasha was in rather high spirits, which meant 'not whining like an infant for once despite a large number of very painful-looking and possibly mortal wounds.'  
  
That overall duckiness had lasted until it had started raining quite suddenly and promptly soaked everyone to the bone. No, not literally, because that would've only been possible had their skin been hanging off in clumps. So the partially mauled Inu-Yasha got literally soaked to the bone and the others were only figuratively soaked to the bone. But enough word games.  
  
The rain hadn't been so bad, and Miroku was sure that it wouldn't have been a problem at all, if not for the fact that it had brought along its friends Thunder and Lightning and eventually became hail. Which, obviously, was a sucky development- especially when the group managed to get separated amidst all the mess.  
  
That part had been bearable, though, because he was alone with Sango as they made their way to the nearby city. Or perhaps it was worse; Miroku wasn't really sure. He couldn't always be sure when he was thinking about Sango. It had been nice to shield her from the rain, because that meant he got to hold her very tightly and not get hit. It had hurt, though, in a strangely distant way. A kind of lonely ache in his stomach, like the one he got when he thought about what little he remembered of his mother.  
  
He shook off the memory and attempted to sit up, then remembered with a mild sort of surprise that he was dead.  
  
Then he realized how much pain he was in and decided that he probably wasn't actually dead, just very, verrry close to it.  
  
Miroku glanced around, wincing as his head screamed in protest. Pond. Sky. Grass. No people. No familiar landmarks. He buried his head in his lap and moaned under his breath. Then he shot bolt upright again, ignoring the stars exploding across his vision and staring at the delicate, beautifully patterned silk wrapped around his body.  
  
Except it wasn't HIS body.  
  
He stared down at the slender arms, the mile-long legs, the elaborate kimono covering milky white skin and impossibly long ebony hair falling over slight, narrow shoulders . . . or more accurately, SHE stared.  
  
He was a woman.  
  
Miroku screamed, partially out of being terribly freaked out and partially because he was hoping it would wake him up from this nightmare. Since he was actually awake, it didn't work.  
  
"Notgoodnotgoodnotgood . . ." the monk chanted under 'her' breath, becoming slightly hysterical.  
  
He jumped to his feet, swaying slightly as another spike of pain split his skull, and stumbled over towards the pond, falling to his knees before it and peering into it. The reflection was murky but undeniable. A beautiful young woman not a day older than Kagome stared back at him, her violet eyes wide with horror.  
  
"Oh my," he said weakly, voice cracking slightly as he stood up again, half- consciously inspecting his newfound curves, which were quite respectable (but that wasn't the point). Though this body did have a very nice ass . . .  
  
Miroku closed his eyes, suddenly calm, and forced himself to think. Briefly, he recalled glimpsing this girl whose face he was wearing in the city and chasing her down to try the usual spiel on. To his surprise, she had found him amusing and led him away.  
  
Away from Sango.  
  
He should've known better- such a beautiful woman, traveling alone and wearing such a fine kimono? Not a chance in all seven of the hells. But women were his weakness. They always had been, and they had been his father's weakness as well, and his father's before him; the very same reason that the power of the Air Rip "graced" his right hand.  
  
She had been so beautiful though. And when she had kissed him, he'd forgotten about everything but her. No thoughts of his curse, of the Shikon Jewel or even of Naraku. Nothing about his companions, and nothing at all about Madame Exterminator's so-lovely smile.  
  
Though he hadn't been aware of it at the time, he had deepened the kiss out of a subconscious yearning to forget things he didn't even remember knowing. He had honestly wanted to forget the others- especially Sango, who was so very confusing. He really should've noticed the lack of memory. But all he could see . . . all he could think of . . . had been that girl in yellow silk with the seductive smile and blue eyes.  
  
Miroku inwardly cursed, glaring at his own purple-eyed reflection in a very unladylike way. But he knew that he deserved this for his stupidity- he had no recollection of what had passed after that kiss, but whatever it was, his body had been transformed by it.  
  
Then he froze in utter panic as his stressed-out brain finally put the pieces together. He had been such an idiot to miss it.  
  
That girl had stolen his form and left him with hers.  
  
And if she had been able to do such a thing, then it was very, very unlikely that she was just a girl. A body-snatching youkai was running around with his face on. Worse, with the Shikon shards wrapped up in his robes. The others would never know . . .  
  
"Sango," he whispered in horror.  
  
  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
  
  
For the first time in his life, Miroku was afraid to be traveling alone, but he honestly didn't know what to do but try and make his way back to Kaede and the village. The others would head there eventually, after all. But it was going to be more than difficult. He was at least two weeks from the village, assuming that damned youkai hadn't carried him further off- and that was only if he figured out the way.  
  
Miroku gave a slight moan of exhaustion, slipping to his knees by a convenient tree after less than an hour of stumbling along the road, cursing the tight wrap of the kimono and the sandals. He was not used to shoes, much less such awkward ones, and this body was not only as weak as a kitten but far from used to such harsh travel. Forget two weeks; this could take a month.  
  
The monk growled in annoyance as his sleeve caught on a branch. He was never going to get there at this rate. He would be kidnapped; killed or worse- this body was far too attractive for him to expect to get to the village in one piece. Hell, even if it had been an ugly body, he wouldn't have a chance.  
  
"I'm going to die," he said aloud, internally bristling at the change in his voice. But saying it aloud calmed him. Miroku was well acquainted with the concept of his impending death, and felt almost relieved to know how and when it would arrive.  
  
How ironic that he was free of the Air Rip but going to die all the sooner. He stared at the delicate right hand of his new body, its palm smooth and unblemished and beautiful, if he did not think of it as his. Had that youkai (how, HOW had he missed her aura?) known of his curse? Did she- or was it a he?- did IT know how his body was going to die?  
  
A distant sound of many footsteps marching in unison suddenly reached Miroku's ears and distracted him from that line of thought. He glanced over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of far-off armor, pennants, and horses through the trees. A battalion of soldiers was coming. For a moment, he considered running, or at least trying to hide.  
  
But the kimono was bright yellow and embroidered with gold threads- there was no way to hide, and running would be just as difficult with all those layers of clothing anyway; maybe even more so.  
  
So inspiration struck, and Miroku did the best thing that he could think of. He walked out into the center of the road, composed himself, and kneeled right there, closing his eyes.  
  
He vaguely heard the sound of the soldiers' voices, loud and raucous. Not a very strict regiment then, nor one that had recently seen action. A few minutes passed, and he felt the ground trembling underneath him. The voices died, one by one, but he still didn't look.  
  
Miroku sensed movement in front of him, and a slightly suspicious voice asked: "What are you doing in such a place, my lady?"  
  
"Waiting for you," he replied sweetly, annoyed again at the sound of his own voice.  
  
Cool, sharp steel brushed up against his pretty new throat and he smiled very slightly, letting his eyes fall open and giving the general who stood above him a serene look.  
  
"Please," he said in an amused tone full of false offense and princess-y pronouns. "We are but a lost lamb."  
  
"Are you?" the general asked coldly. "Or are you a youkai? What woman would travel alone in such fine clothes, or alone at all?"  
  
Miroku hid his face behind his sleeve, faking a mournful tone. "Oh, kind sir, you misinterpret our situation. We were traveling with our bodyguards, but our noble personage was attacked and we fear that they have been killed. There is no trace of them."  
  
The sword was lowered, but not put away, though the general extended a hand in offering to help him to his feet. "Your name, my lady?" he inquired politely.  
  
He gave the man the only one he could think of. "We are Sango," he said regally, taking the hand and rising to his feet in his best imitation of the graceful exterminator, smoothing his kimono. "We must find the priestess Kaede; it is a matter most dire. Will you take us to her?"  
  
The general glanced back at his troops, his expression pensive. Finally, he nodded. "Very well, Lady Sango. We will do what we can for you."  
  
Miroku smiled as gratefully as he could at the man and silently wished that Sango were still with him. He always felt so much stronger when she was around.  
  
  
  
* tbc . . . * 


	3. Shippou's Silence

A/N: Hey, a very nice chica is posting this ficcy on her way-cool site. I didn't even have to send it to her; she ASKED. ^_^ I'm very happy now and thusly posting sooner than I'd expected.  
  
Check out her Miroku/Sango shrine at http://mirokusango.topcities.com/. Es muy bueno, gringos. ^_~  
  
  
  
"Shippou's Silence"  
  
  
  
Shippou was worried.  
  
He wasn't quite sure why, but something had been . . . wrong. Ever since yesterday, when he'd found Inu-Yasha and the others arguing outside the city gates, something had been making all of his fur stand on end. Upon sensing it, he'd instantly attached himself to Kagome and hadn't spoken a word to anyone.  
  
Not that anyone else was doing much talking. The group in general was being very quiet and no one seemed up to making small talk. He couldn't say he was protesting though.  
  
Inu-Yasha was annoyed by all the time they'd lost because of that storm a few days back, Kagome looked worried for unexplained reasons, Miroku seemed oblivious to everything, and Sango had too much of a headache to care about anything at all. So Shippou had kept quiet, curling into Miroku's offered arms when Kagome began to tire of having his weight on her shoulders.  
  
Still, for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to speak at all. He kept his trap shut and thought about all the things that for some reason weren't really adding up- Sango's unceasing headache, Kagome's ever-furrowed brow . . . Even Miroku's over-friendly cuddling was making him nervous.  
  
He snuggled deeper into the monk's robes, blinking fiercely and breathing in Miroku's scent. For him, everyone's scent had a feeling or emotion attached to it- love, or strength, or sometimes simply power. There had always been something reassuring about Miroku's; a sense of competence and the utter, absolute conviction that everything was going to be okay in the end.  
  
For some reason, it wasn't comforting anymore.  
  
Shippou sniffled once and Inu-Yasha glared at him. "And just what's wrong with you, fox?" he demanded.  
  
"Shut up," Shippou retorted without the usual vigor.  
  
And then there was the princess.  
  
He had glimpsed her so briefly in the city right before finding the others, a beautiful woman in yellow silk and gold, surrounded by protective soldiers and buying a kimono from a merchant- a simple one, dark purple with black lining. She hadn't even noticed him, but for some reason, his nose had chosen that exact moment to twitch.  
  
And amidst the stench of the unwashed soldiers and market in general, her scent was the most comforting thing in the world.  
  
Shippou had followed them for as long as he dared in the guise that looked suspiciously like Inu-Yasha during his time of the month, if somewhat neater and lacking the golden eyes, and she had been smiling the whole time, like she knew some great secret and was never going to tell it.  
  
Then some demon had attacked the edge of the town, and the soldiers had run off to battle it. The hime had been separated from the few that remained with her amidst the citizens' panic, but Shippou had managed to keep up with her. And when he'd seen the thug advancing on her from behind, his eyes greedy and licking his lips . . .  
  
Well, he'd attacked. Smashed the man upside the head with all the strength of his temporary body, and the hime had turned, surprise on her face, just as the kitsune illusion that masked him had finally shattered under all the stress.  
  
He'd frozen, expecting her to scream and possibly faint.  
  
But she'd only smiled at him . . .  
  
And kept on walking.  
  
"Thank you, Shippou," she had called over her shoulder, and then the soldiers had swarmed in around her again, hiding her from view.  
  
And for the life of him, he couldn't figure out how she knew his name.  
  
  
  
* tbc . . . * 


	4. Kagome's Suspicion

A/N: And the next chappie, written in a single burst of inspiration, which you can thank Thunk and Aya for. They're such nice kiddies.  
  
  
  
"Kagome's Suspicion"  
  
  
  
Something was wrong; had been wrong for a while now. Kagome was certain of it.  
  
Shippou was nervous, Sango's concentration was shot, and Inu-Yasha was acting even more aloof and angry than usual. Only Miroku seemed oblivious to whatever was slowly infuriating everyone else, and if it had been anyone but the monk, she might've been suspicious. Miroku was probably the most powerful human she'd ever met, however, so if he didn't seem to notice, he was probably only pretending in hopes of calming the others.  
  
Right?  
  
Unless the something that was wrong was Miroku himself . . .  
  
She shook her head fiercely. That was ridiculous.  
  
"Shippou," she called softly, and the kitsune instantly leapt from Miroku's arms and back to her shoulder, breathing in deeply as soon as he touched her. It was almost as if he'd been holding his breath while with Miroku.  
  
"I saw a very pretty hime yesterday," he said quietly. "She was wearing a yellow kimono."  
  
Was it her imagination, or had Miroku just twitched? No, of course not- it made sense that he'd be interested. After all, Shippou was talking about a pretty girl.  
  
"So what?" Inu-Yasha asked brusquely, glaring back at them.  
  
"She was in the city, and a youkai attacked . . . " Shippou began slowly, and Sango stiffened. Kagome knew she hadn't imagined that. "She got separated from the soldiers she was with, and I saved her from a man who was going to . . . um . . . " He winced.  
  
"You should've just left the bitch to herself," Inu-Yasha said irritably. "You can't draw attention to yourself."  
  
"But he would've hurt her!" Shippou protested.  
  
"Keh," Inu-Yasha snorted. "So what? She's just a human."  
  
"She smelled nice," Shippou said softly. "Kinda like Miroku used to."  
  
" ' . . . Used to'?" Miroku asked, raising an eyebrow and stopping in his tracks.  
  
"Maybe you'd smell better if you bathed more," Inu-Yasha said with a nasty smirk.  
  
"I beg your pardon; I bathe far more than you, little doggy," Miroku huffed, but his eyes never left Shippou. Unthinkingly, Kagome tightened her grip on the child. For a moment, Miroku had looked almost like he wanted to swallow Shippou into the Kazaana.  
  
Sango rubbed at her forehead. "Miroku," she asked oddly, "wasn't there . . . a youkai the other day? I remember a youkai with . . . purple eyes." She winced and rubbed harder.  
  
"Sango-chan," Kagome said worriedly, reaching towards her friend with concern in her eyes. The exterminator waved her off.  
  
"I'm fine," she insisted. Sango stumbled on for a few more steps and collapsed, Miroku catching her without even looking and cradling her against his side.  
  
"All right there, Sango?" he asked, sounding almost amused.  
  
"Get . . . off me, Houshi-sama," she said through gritted teeth.  
  
Kagome felt a shiver go up her spine. For some reason, seeing Sango so close to Miroku worried her. As if she were expecting some kind of attack. As if . . .  
  
Wait. It was impossible, but . . .  
  
"Miroku-sama only has two Shikon shards," she realized in horror.  
  
The monk jerked in surprise and stared at her for a moment. "W-What?" he choked.  
  
"Idiot!" Inu-Yasha yelled. "Why didn't you tell us you'd lost a shard?!"  
  
"I had . . . three?" Miroku's eyes widened and he nearly dropped the still- dizzy Sango. "Then- oh, SHIT!" The language startled the others, but it wasn't like it wasn't warranted. "Oh shit, oh shit, oh SHIT . . . " he wailed.  
  
"Come on," Inu-Yasha said, spinning on his heel. "Maybe we can still-"  
  
Kagome's eyes narrowed and her head snapped to the left. "I sense . . . a Shikon shard!" she cried, pointing in the direction the feeling came from. "That way- it's very far off, but I'm certain!"  
  
"Then let's GO!" Inu-Yasha shouted, pulling Kagome and Shippou onto his back and tearing off before Kirara even finished transforming.  
  
"Dammit!" 'Miroku' cursed. "How could I have let that boy get away with a shard?!"  
  
Sango gritted her teeth and glared up at him. "Stop wasting time, Houshi- sama- we have to find it!" She swung a leg over Kirara's back and grabbed the man by the back of his robes and pulled him on. "Hurry up! We can't let a shard get away, especially not if a youkai has it!"  
  
"Indeed," Miroku agreed in a low voice. "That would be rather . . . counterproductive."  
  
  
  
* tbc . . . * 


	5. Hime’s Demon

A/N: Just to placate you, despite certain appearances in coming chapters, this IS a Sango x Miroku fic.  
  
  
  
"Hime's Demon"  
  
  
  
Miroku felt like throwing up.  
  
The requisite panic had been offset by first shock, then the need to charm the soldiers and stay calm in public, but now that he had a private room (which the local lord had been kind enough to prepare as soon as Miroku had batted "her" eyelashes at him) he was free to hyperventilate.  
  
"I'm screwed, I'm screwed, so absolutely and utterly screwed . . . " he moaned, borrowing the expression from Kagome. "What was I thinking; I can't keep this up!"  
  
He was tempted just to run for it- the moon was full and very bright tonight- but the soldiers that had protected him on the road trapped him here, and he'd be in more trouble without them anyway.  
  
But Sango was in danger. They were all in danger; he had to DO something! Traveling with the soldiers was taking even longer than going solo had. If he didn't think of something soon, he'd go insane.  
  
"Dear . . . " he moaned; then wondered who he was talking about.  
  
Miroku wished more than anything that he could escape. More than anything, he wanted to run straight to Sango and be as close to her as humanly possible. Wanted to be safe, and it was safest with her. Somehow he was certain of that. But the lord had warned him not to go out to the gardens because of the guards surrounding his palace. Something about a youkai roaming the area.  
  
"Dear, please don't leave me," he wailed under his breath, feeling his eyes start to burn. "I'm so afraid . . . "  
  
This body was so insanely weak- a powdered and puffed princess with baby- soft skin and delicate bird-bones. There was no way it had been the youkai's original form. It was just some unfortunate girl who'd made the same mistake he had in trusting a stranger with hypnotic blue eyes.  
  
He was damned. No matter what he did, he was damned.  
  
He wasn't ready to die. All his life, he'd prepared for that one thing, and now that it was finally coming, he was panicking. Pathetic.  
  
"Dear," he sobbed one last time, burying his face in his hands and finally breaking down in tears.  
  
Then he felt a cool hand on his shoulder, and someone whispered, "Don't cry, hime," as he sensed a trace of . . . something. He couldn't place it, but he knew it all the same.  
  
Miroku raised his head and came face to face with a dark-haired boy with large, gray eyes that looked almost silver in the light. He was moonstone- pale and wore a simple black yukata made of rough fabric. His hair was ratty and loose, about waist-length, and all of his being suggested something that Miroku knew he'd be kicking himself for not recognizing later.  
  
"What's wrong?" the boy asked, quickly withdrawing his hand. "Why are you here? They aren't-" and he tensed- "they aren't going to make you marry the lord, are they?"  
  
Miroku shuddered at the thought. "No! I'd kill him first!" he exclaimed.  
  
The boy looked startled, then he grinned. "Kill him but not yourself? Not many women would say that," he remarked in amusement.  
  
"Um . . . " Miroku winced.  
  
"It's all right; I won't tell anyone," the boy promised with a chuckle. "No one would believe me anyway."  
  
"Why not?" Miroku asked, glad for any kind of distraction.  
  
The boy smirked ironically. "I'm the lord's son."  
  
"Eh?!" Miroku choked.  
  
"I am a bastard child," he explained further. "Does that alarm you?"  
  
"Should it?" Miroku asked dryly. "Tell me your name."  
  
The boy bowed a little awkwardly, seeming unused to formalities. "Kazuma, my lady. And you?"  
  
"Sango," Miroku lied, returning the bow and regarding him thoughtfully. "Kazuma, will you do me a favor?"  
  
"What kind of favor?" Kazuma asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
Miroku allowed himself a small chuckle. Naïve in manners, maybe, but at least not in street smarts- promising nothing before he knew what Miroku wanted. "I need a bodyguard," he explained with a lazy smile.  
  
Kazuma blinked in surprise. "Ah . . . my lady, I don't think that's such a good idea."  
  
"I'll give you whatever you want, as long as it is within my power," Miroku promised, mentally hoping he was picking a good 'bodyguard.' If Kazuma couldn't fight, they'd both be in trouble. But he looked like a warrior, and hopefully Miroku could still use a few of his own tricks.  
  
"Princess, I can't-" Kazuma said weakly. "You have soldiers- you don't need my help."  
  
"Can't travel fast enough with them," Miroku replied simply.  
  
"Wait, you want to travel with JUST me?!" Kazuma boggled at him. "You're- you're joking!"  
  
"I don't joke about things like this," Miroku huffed, flicking back his hair. "I need to get to the priestess Kaede, and I need to get to her quickly. It takes too long traveling with all those soldiers. What do you want? I could give you this body."  
  
"You'd regret it in the morning," Kazuma warned. "All of it."  
  
In the morning . . . Oh, that's what he was sensing. Imagine his luck, finding Kazuma right at that time of the month.  
  
"It's alright, Kazuma-san," Miroku said with a smile, leaning towards him and winking conspiratorially. "I know you're a hanyou."  
  
  
  
* tbc . . . * 


	6. Inu Yasha’s Promise

A/N: Been having a bit of trouble writing lately. Also, school's starting in a couple weeks, so updates are going to be fewer.  
  
  
  
"Inu-Yasha's Promise"  
  
  
  
They had snuck in before the sun rose, and he could clearly smell two humans in the room, but something about both scents unsettled him; as if they were somehow not quite real or not quite "right".  
  
"Inu-Yasha, you ran too fast. We have to wait for the others to catch up," Kagome whispered, glancing around furtively. He gave no indication of agreement, instead sniffed at the floor. A girl had stood there, and her scent was soothing and powerful, which was strange because he got the impression that her body was weak.  
  
"I can smell that hime," Shippou said in quiet, respectful awe.  
  
The Miroku-hime, Inu-Yasha remembered with slight amusement as his nose twitched at her calming scent. If there really were a woman like Miroku out there, every man in the country was in no end of trouble.  
  
He turned his attention to the other scent- a boy smelling of the outdoors, maybe a half-year older than Shippou's princess and very, very nervous. Strange, that a hime would take a commoner into her chambers, but then, the hime was strange too. She wore no perfume, and seemed to have few possessions.  
  
Then he caught a familiar scent among the others and slunk towards it, his eyes narrowing. A neatly folded yellow kimono lay at the foot of the futon, and it smelled very faintly of the hime, of Miroku, and of sex. Inu- Yasha scowled at it but said nothing to the other two. He'd have to have a very long talk with that monk later.  
  
Kagome furrowed her eyebrows slightly; then sighed. "The shard's definitely gone," she reported. "I can't tell for sure, but I'd bet whoever was sleeping here has it. Its aura permeated the room."  
  
"Like we couldn't tell," Inu-Yasha muttered, breathing in deeply of the kimono's scent, just to be certain.  
  
"Sit," Kagome said idly, and he got up close and personal enough with the kimono and floor to never doubt his nose again.  
  
Shippou sighed and saved the kimono, then frowned at the scent emanating from it. "This smells like Miroku. The hime must've stolen the shard from him." He looked upset. "And I let her get away!"  
  
"It's not your fault, Shippou-chan; you couldn't have known," Kagome assured him.  
  
"Of course not, you were so busy mooning over her, how could you be expected to see what was right in front of your face?" Inu-Yasha asked exasperatedly, and got sat again for his trouble.  
  
"So the hime has the shard," Kagome repeated worriedly. "Are you sure she wasn't a youkai, Shippou-chan?"  
  
"Positive!" Shippou nodded vigorously. "I would've known, Kagome, I swear!"  
  
"Okay, then- that's a relief at least. She might not be so hard to fight." The girl looked relieved.  
  
"Feh." Inu-Yasha glared at them. "You can't underestimate the hime just because she's human. She still has a shard, and gods know what she's doing with the damned thing."  
  
"I don't sense any evil," Kagome said softly. "Maybe . . . maybe Miroku flirted with her, and she thought he might abuse the shard."  
  
"Why do I doubt that?" Inu-Yasha snorted. "Besides, how would she even have found it? Even if Miroku slept with her, he wouldn't be stupid enough to let her find any of his shards. She's no normal princess."  
  
"I would not expect her to be," a quiet voice said from the doorway. Kagome and Shippou gasped; Inu-Yasha growled.  
  
A soldier stood there; his armor only half-on and eyes worried. "Do you know where the princess is?" he asked.  
  
"If we did, we'd be there, wouldn't we?" Inu-Yasha snarled, getting to his feet.  
  
"The hanyou took her," the soldier informed him, and Inu-Yasha's eyes widened. "We've been searching all night, but there's no sign of either."  
  
"Definitely no normal hime," Kagome murmured. "Why are you telling us this?"  
  
The soldier shrugged. "Sango-hime is very beautiful," and he smiled slightly. "I think you could save her."  
  
" 'Sango-hime'?" Shippou blinked in surprise.  
  
"Yes; that is the princess's name," the soldier explained. The trio shared a glance that spoke volumes.  
  
"Then she's expecting us," Inu-Yasha said in a low voice. "Which is never a good thing."  
  
"If she's expecting us . . . " Kagome smiled slightly. "Why disappoint her?"  
  
Inu-Yasha smirked in lieu of reply and cracked his knuckles. "Now you're talking, girl."  
  
The soldier just sighed. "And do you have ANY idea where you are going?"  
  
"Details, details." The hanyou waved him off. "I'll find her, and get that shard back if I have to rip apart half the country!"  
  
  
  
* ende * 


	7. Demon’s Body

A/N: Happy (brief) update time! Huzzah! Y'know, judging by the reviews, nobody reads this story . . . ^_^;; Warning, whatever loyal readers may exist out there: I am at the risk of becoming a discouraged writer.  
  
  
  
"Demon's Body"  
  
  
  
Miroku looked back at Kazuma, who had stopped in his tracks. "Something awry?" he asked quietly, giving him the usual calm smile.  
  
" . . . The sun," Kazuma said after a long moment, pointing towards the pink-streaked horizon. "When it comes up, I'll be back to normal. It's not too late for you to go back, you know."  
  
"I told you, I already know that you are a hanyou," Miroku told him with a sigh. Kazuma had been trying to convince him to go back to the palace all night, but he'd be damned if he gave up now.  
  
"I am not as . . . tolerable in my real body," Kazuma muttered, looking away. "Humans find me very unattractive."  
  
"So what?" Miroku retorted, turning back to the road. "I didn't ask you to do this because I wanted to lay you. I needed someone powerful, and you were the strongest person at hand."  
  
"I know," the half-breed said hoarsely. "I exist solely to fight. Father himself told me that."  
  
Miroku huffed. "You talk too much," he admonished, wagging a finger at Kazuma. "Just because I'm a pretty girl, you tell me things that I can use to break you."  
  
"Y-you're just a human," he muttered. "Youkai aren't attracted to humans."  
  
"That's a lie," Miroku replied airily. "People like you would not exist if humans were physically repulsive to youkai." Kazuma didn't have anything to say to that. He just pulled his yukata tighter around himself and looked down at his bare feet.  
  
"It's starting," he whispered finally.  
  
Miroku half-turned and regarded Kazuma curiously as the boy's fingers and toes lengthened into gnarled talons wicked enough to put even the nastiest pureblooded youkai to shame. "Oh my, oh my," he said in slight surprise, and Kazuma looked up at him guiltily, revealing in the early light that his eyes truly were silver.  
  
The boy's ears widened into large, rounded triangles pressed against the sides of his head and placed where a normal human's would be, and his hair suddenly went from snarled but glossy black to dulled, natty charcoal. However, Miroku's eyes stayed mostly on the scary gut-ripping claws.  
  
"You aren't that frightening," he observed prematurely.  
  
Kazuma's skin turned dark gray and all the fat in his body vanished like so much smoke, leaving a gaunt, bug-eyed skeleton with leathery skin yanked tight against its razor-sharp bones standing where there had previously been a relatively handsome "human" boy.  
  
Miroku just gaped at him. "Oh dear," he squeaked finally, feeling about ready to faint.  
  
"Sango-hime," he said hesitantly, and his voice, once sweet tenor, was gravel in the coffee grinder. Not that Miroku was overly familiar with coffee grinders . . . "Are you afraid of me now?"  
  
"A . . . little bit," Miroku squeaked, for the first time missing the Air Rip's oddly reassuring existence in his palm.  
  
"I'm sorry," Kazuma said quietly. "I don't like to scare people who don't deserve it."  
  
"It's okay," Miroku told him after a brief check that indeed he was not dead from a heart attack nor had he soiled his nice new kimono. "I have seen crueler people with prettier faces."  
  
The hanyou snorted and glared at him. "Don't sugarcoat your opinion of me. You'd never trust me if we'd met looking like this."  
  
"It's the new moon tonight," Miroku observed idly, then glanced back to Kazuma. "You hold absolutely no physical attraction for me, Kazuma. But no man does, so that is not because of your appearance, I assure you."  
  
"Oh? And what happens when you are married?" Kazuma asked, looking mildly amused.  
  
"Please." Miroku put on his usual offended look and put a hand to his chest. "I am a hime."  
  
  
  
* tbc . . . * 


	8. Madam’s Song

A/N: Well, I feel much better now. ^__^ I've gotten several requests to continue, for which I am immensely grateful, and which lead to this chapter getting done early and being full of sexy bits (even if those sexy bits involve an evil youkai). It would've been up sooner, but we had some trouble with the 'Net last night.  
  
  
  
"Madam's Song"  
  
  
  
Some ridiculously jaunty tune was stuck in Sango's head- had that damned monk been humming it? She wouldn't put it past him to do such a thing just to drive her mad. More likely, though, it was something Kagome had taught her. Kagome wasn't an overly skilled vocalist, but she did make up for whatever talent she lacked in enthusiasm.  
  
"Then suddenly, my intuition and my wisdom grow, and then I know," the exterminator sang softly, and Kirara made a curious purring noise in the back of her throat at the sudden noise. "And most of all I sense compassion from people I don't even know . . . thank you for waking me up . . . "  
  
"Interesting song," Miroku commented from behind her on Kirara's back. "You have a lovely voice- would you sing something else?"  
  
"Shut up," Sango said automatically, so he sang instead, in a very amused tone.  
  
"Alas, my love, you do me wrong, to cast me off so discourteously. For I have loved you alone and spend time with you delightedly . . . "  
  
Sango flushed. Miroku had been acting very strangely since . . . well, she couldn't quite remember when, but it was a recent development. She thought. Maybe.  
  
Her head hurt.  
  
The others were far ahead of them- it was still dark, so they could not walk, and Kirara could only move so quickly with two young adults on her back.  
  
She glanced back over her shoulder, and Miroku smiled at her very softly. Almost . . . shyly. He hadn't tried to grope her in days. He hadn't asked his infamous question, hadn't even looked at another woman.  
  
And after a long silence . . .  
  
"We got the afternoon, you got this room for two. One thing I've left to do: discover me discovering you," Sango sang quietly- another of Kagome's songs. "One mile to every inch of your skin like porcelain. One pair of candy lips and your bubblegum tongue." She blushed again at the words.  
  
"That's a nice one," Miroku murmured, and leaned slightly closer to her, yet not enough so to be anything less than decent. "Is there more?"  
  
Sango swallowed hard and her blush darkened. "And- and if you want love, we'll make it; swimming a deep sea of blankets . . . " Her embarrassment finally overwhelmed her, and the exterminator trailed off.  
  
" . . . oh," Miroku said softly, and she almost thought that she heard embarrassment in HIS voice for once.  
  
"Houshi-sama," Sango began at the same time he said "Sango . . ."  
  
A pained look crossed his face. "Please stop calling me that, Sango. I hate to hear you call me that. Can't you say my name, just once?"  
  
As Sango fell silent, Kirara slowed down to an idle trot, though neither of her passengers seemed to notice. She finally stopped completely, and still neither the human nor the so-called human spoke.  
  
"Miroku," Sango said after a long, silent moment, and the monk's face broke out in a wide grin.  
  
"Yes, Exterminator-sama?" he asked innocently.  
  
"Shut up and kiss me," she growled, and did so to him.  
  
Miroku laughed in sheer delight at her "attack". "Yes, my dear," he purred against her mouth, and the two tumbled from Kirara's back and into the tall, reedy grass, Sango landing on top and with her knees to either side of the man's hips. He blushed before she even had a chance to get embarrassed, and the girl peered into his eyes for a long moment, seeing only a shy boy and no trace of the perverted man she knew.  
  
"You act so strange when I touch you," she murmured, noting with more than passing interest that his robes had caught on her armor and been pulled loose in the fall. It would be so easy to flick them off his shoulders . . .  
  
"You've seen my luck with women," Miroku told her ruefully. "I've never had an affirmative response. Besides," he added after a moment, blush darkening, "I never felt for any of them the way I feel for you."  
  
She wanted him, she admitted to herself for the umpteenth time. And he was before her in a state that could very easily become one of undress, and it almost looked like . . . he hoped it would. Like he wanted her too, but didn't want to instigate it for the same fear of rejection she had held for so long.  
  
He had stopped flirting with other girls . . .  
  
Anything else that might've or should've been said that night was lost to the wind and grass and dew as the two gave up any need for words or clothes or anything but the one with them. Kirara politely chose that moment to leave them to themselves for the time being.  
  
She never would've gone if she'd had any idea what the monk in her mistress's arms really was or what he was up to.  
  
  
  
* tbc . . . *  
  
  
  
A/N: The songs "sung" in this fic are, in order, the opening theme for Yu Yu Hakusho, "Greensleeves", and John Mayer's "Your Body Is A Wonderland."  
  
In case you cannot tell, by the by, were this story a yaoi fic, Sango would unarguably be the one on top, whether hanging with Miroku or the demon-boy. Since she's always getting groped in canon, I think it's only fair. *suddenly gets another sinfully amusing fic idea* Ack, not again.  
  
Note to self: make Anie write it instead. 


	9. Merchant’s Staff

A/N: Aha- behold, the chapter is complete! *happy monkey dance* Took me forever to get it right, but since a few people seem to like poor little suffering Kazuma, I thought I'd flesh him out as well as get some nice Miroku-torture in.  
  
  
  
"Merchant's Staff"  
  
  
  
Miroku shrieked in a fashion that one might compare to a banshee were one in feudal Ireland instead of feudal Japan as the youkai merchant's greedy fingers found purchase in a less-than appropriate place. Instincts that he really shouldn't have had as a man kicked in and he slapped the other soundly. Then he thought better of it, picked a particularly expensive- looking vase from the merchant's cart, threw it at the lecher, and then retreated behind Kazuma's dark figure with a shudder of disgust.  
  
Kazuma glared at the full-blooded youkai in a way which suggested that much pain and a great deal of blood were impending as Miroku tried to wrap his mind around the fact that he had just been soundly groped by what was quite simply a larger, uglier version of the oh-so-icky Jaken. It occurred to him after a moment's disbelief that he felt rather liked he'd been used, and something not unlike guilt poked at his conscience.  
  
He wished Sango were here. She'd have known how to punish the youkai.  
  
Without thinking, he curled into Kazuma, unconsciously seeking protection and feeling a brief flash of disappointment to feel disturbingly bony limbs instead of armor hidden underneath the hanyou's yukata.  
  
"So yer takin' a human mate, then, Kazuma?" The merchant looked amused. "Not a surprise, I suppose, seein' as ya was 'raised' by 'em- if ya could call it that."  
  
Miroku glared at the unnamed youkai and tightened his grip on Kazuma's yukata. He did not like this creature. He seemed like the sort who would sell anything- including other people's secrets.  
  
"Let's just leave," he muttered, and Kazuma gave a last glance to the cart.  
  
"I did bring you to Hayama for a reason, you know," he said with a sigh. "Is there anything you think you could use?" The hanyou gestured to the cart, and Miroku saw that a small but varied assortment of weapons was laid out there on blood-colored silk.  
  
He gave them a brief, calculating glance, then finally stepped forward and came back with a glittering pair of sword-breakers. A quick inspection, and they went back to the silk while he turned his attention to an obsidian dagger. As Kazuma watched bemusedly and the merchant Hayama became more and more impressed, he went through the entire pile, finding nothing of quality that he could use to its full potential as a woman.  
  
"Worthless," he said shortly, casting the last knife back atop its fellows. "I cannot use any of this."  
  
Hayama grinned wolfishly and reached into his cart, pulling out a tightly wrapped bundle that was even taller than Kazuma. "Try one o' these, dearie," he advised her, and opened the bundle to reveal a half-dozen staffs.  
  
Miroku again went straight into the weapons, unable to contain the grin when he picked up the fourth staff. It was beautiful- made of a dark, purple-black wood, and highly polished. Better still, it had absolutely flawless balance and at the end was a glittering silver blade. It was a halberd then; and not just a staff.  
  
He gave it a quick spin; then automatically swiped it out a hair's breadth from Kazuma's nose. The other two gave him a bemused look as he cursed aloud at his own lack of speed.  
  
"Gods damn this weak body," he said under his breath, and Kazuma gave him a worried look.  
  
"Sango-hime?" he inquired, but got no reply.  
  
"I must find Kaede-baba," Miroku muttered, rubbing at his temples and lowering the staff, which already threatened to make his new arms sore. "This situation is absolutely unacceptable."  
  
" 'Situation'?" Both youkai raised an eyebrow at that.  
  
"Yes!" he snapped. "I absolutely must get back to the village! My dear will be there, I know it!"  
  
"Who the hell is 'dear'?" Kazuma asked helplessly, and Miroku glared up at the setting sun, ignoring the other two.  
  
"Damned new moon," he growled. "Inu-Yasha will be late now. But we already are, I suppose. Kazuma, we must get going!" He turned to the merchant and demanded: "How much for this?"  
  
"Fer you?" The youkai grinned again. "A kiss." Miroku blanched in disgust and Kazuma growled. The merchant laughed. "Really, girlie, if ya can take Kazuma's face- mine's not THAT much worse. And it ain't like I'd steal yer soul." Still chuckling, he wrapped his wares back up and returned them to his cart. "But if yer afraid, then yer afraid, and that's that."  
  
"I'll give you a kiss- one you'll feel for a week!" Miroku threatened, clenching a fist at him. The merchant only laughed again, and Miroku fumed, dearly missing the Air Rip. "If I had my true form . . . " he growled without thinking, at which the other two blanched.  
  
"Yer . . . true form?" Curious, the merchant leaned forward. "I ain't sensin' nothing- but I can't smell ya lyin' neither. What are ya, then, if ya've no youki?"  
  
"Never said I wasn't human," Miroku muttered, but decided it was more than time to keep his trap shut in regards to the details of his current situation. "The staff- "  
  
"Take it," the merchant cut in shortly. "I owe yer mate that much, gel." Before Miroku could even fully process the sudden change of opinion, he'd vanished, along with his wares.  
  
"You never owed me a thing, old man," Kazuma muttered after him with a soft curse. "You saved me from myself. You gave me all the strength I have."  
  
Miroku slung his staff across his shoulders and gave the hanyou a dubious look. "Whatever. Can we go eat now?"  
  
  
  
* tbc . . . * 


	10. Hanyou's Burden

A/N: Ack, I feel bad about how long it took to update this. -_- ;; But I've had writer's block on this story for a while, and right in the middle of it, my poor Airport Base Station had to be put to rest. Thusly, the writing process didn't go so well.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Hanyou's Burden"  
  
  
  
  
  
"Gods, why NOW?" Inu-Yasha demanded.  
  
The heavens chose not to reply, and the sulky hanyou was left to glare at his hands as the last traces of his claws disappeared. It was the new moon- no doubt to Kagome and Shippou's private relief. Well, this would at least give Miroku and Sango time to catch up (what WERE those nitwits doing, anyway?), and there didn't seem to be any hostiles in the area, so it could've been worse.  
  
And speak of the devil; Sango and Miroku suddenly strolled into camp, holding hands, giggling at each other, and- of course- glowing. Shit.  
  
Scratch that- it was BEYOND worse.  
  
"I really hope it was good, you two, because I'm about ready to rip your marrow out," Inu-Yasha growled, cracking his knuckles. Kirara mewled in amusement.  
  
Miroku blinked at him in surprise. "Eh? Who- ?"  
  
"Inu-Yasha, is that you?!" Sango exclaimed. "Gods, I completely forgot about the new moon!"  
  
"So did we," Kagome said regretfully. "Inu-Yasha was right out in the open when he started changing- if we're luckier than we deserve to be, no one saw."  
  
"Ah, yes; I'd not even thought of it," Miroku murmured. "That time of the month . . . I half-wonder if it's a good idea for you to be out at all when you're like this."  
  
"Keh!" Inu-Yasha snorted. "It's not like I can't fight at all, bozou! And we sure as hell can't abandon the Shikon shard!"  
  
"Did I say we would?" Miroku looked irritated. "I just meant, perhaps you should wait behind while the rest of us go on and then catch up in the morning. You aren't much use like this- you can barely fight at all."  
  
"Miroku-sama!" Kagome protested. "He beat the Peach Man when he was 'like this,' didn't he?"  
  
"Barely," Miroku retorted. "And he never would've without the hermit and you."  
  
"Well, so what?!" Inu-Yasha yelled. "You and Sango are human, and you've made it this far, haven't you?"  
  
There was a strangely ironic twist to Miroku's smile as he replied, "I suppose you could say that."  
  
"We have trained since childhood to become what we are, Inu- Yasha," Sango said harshly. "And we'd be just as out of our league in a youkai's form as you are in a human's." Again, Miroku's smile seemed slightly ironic, but he nodded his assent.  
  
"Either way, I'm not staying behind," Inu-Yasha growled.  
  
Meanwhile, Kagome was looking around the clearing thoughtfully, and most especially at a few broken trees near the edge of it. "This may seem strange, but . . . " she hesitated slightly. "Um, have we been here before?"  
  
"This is where we fought that kitsune," Inu-Yasha replied dismissively. She had been asking that same question the entire way there.  
  
"Yes, it is," Kagome agreed quietly. "So that means that we've been retracing our steps from the get-go."  
  
Silence fell over the group for a long moment; then Inu-Yasha growled. "That hime bitch- she's MOCKING us!" he snarled. "Toying with us just like that bastard Naraku!"  
  
"Either that, or she's headed for the village," Sango realized with dread, bringing a hand to her mouth.  
  
"She's just been taunting us the whole time!" Inu-Yasha yelled. "Even when she spoke to Shippou in the market and used Sango's name with the soldiers!"  
  
"Soldiers?!" Sango stared at him in disbelief. "What did we MISS?"  
  
"Long story, Sango-chan; we'll talk as we walk," Kagome said quickly, putting a hand on the other girl's shoulder. "We can't lose any more time- Kaede may be in danger."  
  
"Like that was hard to figure out!" Inu-Yasha snapped.  
  
For the first time, Shippou spoke. "But . . . the hime just isn't BAD," he said earnestly, looking up at the others with worried eyes. "I don't know why she stole that shard, but wouldn't she have taken all three if it was really for something bad?"  
  
"You're judging her by her face and not her actions, Shippou," Miroku countered. "Just because she is beautiful, she isn't necessarily a good person."  
  
"You're one to talk," Inu-Yasha grumbled.  
  
"But her scent . . . " The kitsune looked truly pained. "Her scent was so reassuring," he finished softly, lowering his head. Then he frowned in confusion and looked up again. "Hey, how did you know that the hime was beautiful, Miroku?"  
  
Was Inu-Yasha imagining that flash of alarm in Miroku's eyes?  
  
"You told us so earlier, remember?" the monk said carefully.  
  
"Oh . . . " Shippou frowned slightly. "Yes. I'd . . . I'd forgotten," he mumbled. "I'm sorry, it's just . . . I've felt very strange lately. Like something's not right."  
  
"Everything is alright," Sango said with a soft smile, picking the kitsune up and embracing him lightly. "You shouldn't worry, Shippou."  
  
Inu-Yasha snorted in disgust. "Don't coddle him, Sango," he snapped. "He let the hime get away with a Shikon shard! Between Shippou and the bozou, we're lucky we didn't lose every one we have!"  
  
"Don't pick on them, Inu-Yasha!" Kagome protested.  
  
"I'll damn well pick on whomever I want to!" he yelled.  
  
Miroku whapped him with his staff. "Rude little boy," he muttered sourly. "You think I'd have let that hime bitch escape if I could help it?"  
  
" 'Little boy'?" Inu-Yasha twitched and cracked his knuckles. "I'm a hell of a lot older than you, monk!"  
  
"Judging by your actions, one would never think so," Miroku retorted primly, smoothing his hair back. He suddenly blinked in surprise and withdrew a leaf from his ponytail.  
  
"Oh- where did that come from?" Kagome asked curiously, plucking it from his hand. "Did you fall off Kirara, Miroku-sama?"  
  
Miroku, unaccountably, blushed.  
  
  
  
  
  
* tbc . . . *  
  
  
  
  
  
. : review or shippou will think you don't love him! : . 


	11. Children’s Needs

A/N: Let's be random. I am freaking in love with Good Charlotte's music. I am also in love with Fred Gallagher and MegaTokyo, which I MUST buy. You must ALL buy it. Go, now! You will not regret it! (you can get it at http://www.ironcat.com/ and read it at http://www.megatokyo.com/)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Children's Needs"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The pair drew stares from the other market-goers like Shikon shards drew youkai- a delicate, petite young lady carrying a halberd and dressed in a dark kimono and, towering at her side, a man dressed in an even darker yukata, his face hidden under a wide-brimmed hat. Few chose to look at him, however, when the girl was so lovely. This was lucky for Kazuma, as the sight of a hanyou tended to turn normally friendly crowds into mobs.  
  
"I wish Hayama had been available again," said hanyou murmured, glancing uneasily around the crowded market.  
  
"I second the motion," Miroku muttered through a fake smile directed to a merchant who was inspecting Kazuma a little too closely. "We're screwed if anyone realizes just what you are."  
  
"Such sweet nothings you whisper, Sango-hime," Kazuma retorted dryly. "Why must you always talk like that?"  
  
"'Cause I'm your type, 'zuma-kun," Miroku retorted teasingly, batting his eyelashes in an exaggerated fashion. Kazuma blushed for the umpteenth time that day and quickly looked away. Miroku rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Kazuma, you act like some adolescent virgin!" he exclaimed with a slightly exasperated laugh. "How old are you, anyway?" he added curiously.  
  
"Fifteen last winter," Kazuma said softly, half-peeking back at the monk/hime as if to make sure it was "safe."  
  
"Really?" Miroku frowned, cocking his head slightly. "You look older."  
  
"So I'm told," the hanyou muttered, a distant look coming into his eyes. He said nothing for a long time.  
  
"What are you doing?" Miroku finally asked with a sigh, and Kazuma turned his large, silver eyes to meet the monk's.  
  
"Thinking how nice it would be . . . to fall asleep and never have to wake up," he replied emotionlessly. "To spend the rest of this life dreaming of better things than this."  
  
"Fine, I hate you too," Miroku grumbled.  
  
"I- I didn't mean-" Kazuma stammered, flushing slightly. "I do like you, Sango-hime. I like you a lot."  
  
"Some warrior," Miroku snorted. "Afraid to upset a girl."  
  
"I was never a warrior," Kazuma said quietly. "Just the point man. Father used me to take the lead in battles and the damage." He shuddered slightly. "I hate fighting, Sango-hime. It's sickening, to feel them die in my hands. To smell it and taste it and remember it always . . . "  
  
" . . . What exactly became of your mother?" Miroku asked after a moment.  
  
"She went away," Kazuma murmured. "A long time ago, she went away. Father said she didn't want me, so she left me with him. And I had to do what he said, 'cause as horrible as it was hurting all those people for him, I knew I'd die if I left. A youkai or an exterminator would be sure to eliminate me."  
  
"But you came with me," Miroku said with a faint frown. "Why?"  
  
"Dunno." He shrugged. "The timing, maybe? And I knew that you'd die yourself if you had to go without me. I hate letting things I could've saved die."  
  
"I'm not helpless," Miroku complained, though he knew that it was this close to a lie.  
  
Kazuma gave him a sad smile. "Hime, you don't need to pretend to be so tough all the time, you know. I know that you miss your 'dear,' and that you can't fight very well, and that you want your true form back, whatever it is. So you don't have to pretend like it's okay all the time."  
  
Miroku rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right," he said dismissively, waving the other off.  
  
"As you like it, Sango," Kazuma replied in amusement.  
  
"Hah!" Miroku pointed an accusing finger in the hanyou's face. "You finally forgot to call me 'hime'!"  
  
"Guh!" Kazuma blanched and nearly fell over. "I- um-"  
  
"That means that you LIKE me," Miroku said triumphantly, shoving his face up into the other's. Kazuma squeaked in dismay and blushed again. "Not like that!" The monk laughed.  
  
"I'd HOPE not!" Kazuma hissed. "There's something wrong with a woman who'd seduce a half-breed!"  
  
"Hmph," Miroku huffed and tossed his hair. "You pervert; who said anything about seducing anyone?"  
  
"You know damn well what you act like!" Kazuma fumed.  
  
Miroku chuckled maniacally. "Oh, do I?" he inquired with glee.  
  
Kazuma groaned in exasperation. "Sango . . . " he growled, twitching slightly.  
  
"Careful, you'll tear your sleeves!" Miroku chirped brightly, pointing to where the other's hidden claws had already begun to do so.  
  
Kazuma cursed. "This damned skin," he snarled. "It wears through the toughest fabrics in a month's time."  
  
"Tried fire-rat fur?" Miroku suggested, running a finger down the small strip of skin exposed on the hanyou's arm. He blinked in surprise. It was smoother than anything he'd ever felt. "The heck . . .?"  
  
"Try the other way," Kazuma told him, looking unaffected.  
  
Miroku did as told and yank his hand back with a hiss of pain. Kazuma's skin felt like it was covered in thousands of impossibly tiny daggers.  
  
"You could've warned me," he grumbled, sticking his bleeding fingers in his mouth.  
  
"What's the fun in that?" Kazuma smirked down at him.  
  
"Should I be grateful or pissed off that he's stopped bowing and scraping to me?" Miroku mused aloud.  
  
"Go for grateful, and feel free to prove it," Kazuma answered with a large grin.  
  
"Pervert!" Miroku crowed in delight, clapping his hands. "I'm so proud!"  
  
"Oh, look who's talking," Kazuma snorted. "Now come on- we've got to find that . . . that . . . " He paused. "Uh, what are we looking for again?" he asked sheepishly.  
  
" . . . I thought you knew." Miroku blinked up at him.  
  
"SANGO!" Kazuma yelled.  
  
"Kidding, kidding," Miroku chuckled. "We need food, dummy."  
  
"Oh." Kazuma gave him a skeptical look. "Um, how much?"  
  
"Enough for at least two weeks, I'd imagine," the monk replied.  
  
"Yes, well- for ME, that's a half-pound of rice and a fish cake," Kazuma informed her.  
  
Miroku's jaw dropped. "What?!" he squawked in shock.  
  
"I take it you need more?" Kazuma remarked dryly.  
  
"Oh, just a pinch," the other replied faintly.  
  
"Thought ya might." Kazuma snickered. "But I don't know too much about how humans eat, I'm afraid, so you've gotta get it yourself."  
  
"Do you have any money?" Miroku asked hopefully. "I'd rather not have to resort to selling myself."  
  
"A bit, I think," Kazuma replied, ignoring the last part of that with superhuman ease. "Again, though- not too clear on how it works."  
  
"Fortunately for us, I am," Miroku retorted. "Give it to me?"  
  
"In my shirt," Kazuma replied. "But I can't take my hands out in public." Miroku sighed and quickly darted a hand into Kazuma's yukata with all the skill of an expert pickpocket, returning with what was thankfully a decent sum.  
  
"Right then," Miroku said in satisfaction, transferring the bag to his own robes. "Let's see if we can't find a decent stall . . . "  
  
"The freshest food is that way," Kazuma murmured in his ear, tilting his head to the right.  
  
"How do you know?" Miroku raised an eyebrow at him.  
  
"Can smell it," Kazuma explained. "And-" He stopped suddenly, nose wrinkling in confusion. "What the . . . "  
  
And that was when the delicate, black-skinned hand reached out from the nearest alley and dragged them into it.  
  
The last thing that Miroku saw before the darkness hit was a pair of shockingly silver eyes that most definitely did NOT belong to Kazuma.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
* tbc . . . *  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
. : review or i don't give back the bishounen! : . 


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